


What goes round

by GwenChan



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Dom England (Hetalia), Dom/sub Undertones, Ficlet, FrUK, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Sub France (Hetalia)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 09:37:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8244614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwenChan/pseuds/GwenChan
Summary: Just some fluff aftercare. France reflects about his strange relationship with England.





	

**What goes round**

 

The clear and sharp "click" of the now unbuckled lock follows the liquid and dangling sound of the chain that swings a couple times from the ceiling before stopping completely. Then there's the little "thump" of hands colliding with the thighs and the other, uncomfortable noise of bones snapping back into place where the arms connect with the shoulders.   
The mattress squeaks in protest when the body on it careful shifts position, with the slowness of sleepy limbs.   
"Are you alright?"  
France rises his gaze, massaging and rubbing his reddened wrists with numb fingers. England is back in the room, with a glass of cranberry juice in his hands.  
"Yes, I guess so. Nothing broken."  
Just bruises on his forearms, legs and chest. He can feel the sting of scratches on his upper back. England can be a little, devilish cat. They will all be healed by the following day. Sex between them can be rough to the point of primitive violence and whoever finds himself in the role of submissive always ends up having sore muscles and being emotionally drained.   
France peels a tuft of hair from his sweaty brow, tugging it behind his left ear. He can feel a line of blood dripping from the lobe down the neck and the collar bone. England is a lot into biting. However the other nation is now helping him drinking the juice, holding the glass and his a little shaky hands with a kindness so different from the harsh and cocky behavior he adopts when assuming the role of Dom.   
They love to push boundaries up to the breaking point, but never surpassing the line. It's like a war where victim and tormenter always change.  
"I'm preparing you a bath. Rose-scented or violet-scented soap?" England questioning snaps him back to reality.  
France pauses for a while, wondering. In the ends he asks: "Do you have any of the vanilla-scented one left?"  
"Do you want to smell like a bloody biscuit?"  
Normally this would be enough to start another fight. However there's the tacit rule that any form of contrast, whether physical or mere verbal, is banned from sex after care. It's like they have agreed to press the pause button of their instead eternal divergences.  
"What do you suggest, then?"  
"Violet. It's more subtle and polite. And I have to say it suits you more than you want to admit."  
"Deal."  
England kisses him quickly on the forehead. The tender gesture helps them to remember there's something more than wars and rough sex sessions.  
France snuggles under the duvet closing and opening his hands to get rid of the numbness. His ears are soon filled by the deep noise of water roaring in the bathtub.   
"Ready."  
Rolling out of bed is far from pleasant. His naked body protests the change of temperature and his legs shake. The reward, however, is a nice, violet- smelling hot bath, white with soap and bubbles. He carefully slides into the water.  
"I picked up one of your favorite books here, if you want to read, and here's your MP3. Do you want me to stay or leave?" England asks. Sometimes the answer goes for having him leave, others the other way round. This time it's the first. England obeys, closing quietly the door behind.  
There's a knowledge buried deep in them that beyond all alliances and truces they still wish to crush the other to annihilation. They are just procrastinating. There's a hint of cruel mercy in their relationship.   
When the water has cooled down and France's fingers are wrinkled like a old sponge, England wraps him in a big towel. In the living room he switches on the TV on a sitcom they both like and it's a great diversion. Sometimes he asks if France need something. A glass of water? Something to eat?  
The morning after whoever is the guest would've gone, leaving behind nothing more than a note. The following time England could be in France place, cursing and begging for mercy as part of the game. The very same England who's now little by little snuggling against his chest and there and there kissing him softly. He is not into speaking words of love, but his gestures vocalize more than he expects.   
Yes, this is their relationship, it's old and strange, but it's theirs and is working. 


End file.
